


The Trials and Tribulations of Wanda Maximoff

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Wanda Maximoff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kid Wanda Maximoff, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Parent Figure Natasha Romanoff, Pietro Maximoff Dies, Self-Esteem Issues, Sick Character, Touch-Starved, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug, mentioned starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29888772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Wanda is grieving and in pain. She’s lost everything that she’s ever known: her home, her brother.She needs some help. And the Avengers are there for her, even if it might take her awhile to accept that help.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov, Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff & Tony Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 115
Collections: Anonymous





	The Trials and Tribulations of Wanda Maximoff

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Fic I’ve written so pls be nice! 
> 
> Trigger Warning: very vague mentions of child abuse.

Arriving at the compound, Wanda feels almost as terrified as she did the day she and Pietro arrived at Strucker’s lab when they were eleven years old. Perhaps even more terrified now, because this time her brother isn’t beside her, holding her hand. 

It’s a big place, really big, and it’s full of people who seem to know exactly what they’re doing. And Wanda has no idea. She has  _ no idea  _ what she’s doing here, no idea why they want her here, or why they haven’t put her in handcuffs and  _ arrested _ her. Clint told her she was an avenger now, but she didn’t really believe him. 

This whole day has felt unreal. Like a nightmare. Especially… Especially now that the only person she cares about is dead. 

Wanda thinks it’s Clint who shows her to (her?) room, telling her that there’s some more clothes in the closet (because quite honestly, her little bag of things is pathetic, and she knows it) and that everyone’s around if she needs anything. She doesn’t really register it, what he’s saying, can’t process it all at once. There’s so much to take in that she just nods silently through his words, and slumps down on the bed as soon as he’s gone. 

Somehow she manages to get it together enough to take a shower, the hot water a luxury she only remembers experiencing once or twice before in the depth of her childhood. She dissolves into tears amid washing her hair, and spends perhaps half an hour sobbing on the floor of the shower as the hot water scalds her skin. She can’t get it together enough to drag herself out until ‘FRIDAY’ (the talking robot who apparently lives in the ceiling, or something) asks if she needs medical assistance. 

Wanda brushes her off, crawling out of the shower and managing to grab a pair of sweatpants and one of Pietro’s sweaters from her bag. Yes, clint had said something about more clothes, but… she needs Pietro. She needs his things close to her right now. 

She falls under the covers of the bed, pulling her sweater tight around herself and sobbing herself into a nightmare-ridden sleep. 

She only leaves her bed to go to the toilet for the next couple of days. She isn’t really hungry, so the thought of food doesn’t occur to her, but she takes a couple of sips of water between bouts of tears. 

She manages to get the little radio on the side to a static white noise frequency, because when she’s upset or overwhelmed, it makes it impossible for her to not feel all the emotions of literally  _ everyone  _ surrounding for a few mile radius, unless there’s some form of interference that allows her to tune it out. The static helps; a little bit. It allows her to just focus on her own emotions, otherwise usually she’ll get so overloaded that she shuts down completely. They’re still present, still overwhelming, but a little less. 

At Strucker’s lab, they gave her something that managed to subdue it. Some kind of medication. It was definitely the only ‘nice’ thing they did for her, and it was only so that she wouldn’t shut down and prevent them from experimenting on her. 

When she hears knocking at the door, over two days after her arrival, she ignores it. She pulls her sweater tighter around herself and closes her eyes. She  _ can’t. S _ he doesn’t care who it is at the door, she  _ can’t _ right now _.  _

_‘Would_ _you like me to unlock the door for agent romanoff?’_ FRIDAY asks from the ceiling, and Wanda can barely murmur out a no before she hears Natasha speaking on the other side of the door. 

“Manual override. Agent romanoff, 11013 unlock, FRIDAY.”

Wanda can’t process in time to react to the door opening, and she also… doesn’t really care. She doesn’t really care about  _ anything _ right now. She can’t bring herself to move; she’s exhausted to her very core, physically and emotionally. 

She hears the door click shut, and then she hears footsteps padding through the small living room outside the bedroom. Her back’s to the door, but she’s still very aware of the black widow standing there watching her. Wanda can feel her, the red energy of her attempt to conceal apprehension. 

“You’ve been up here a few days,” she says, eventually, her voice sounding too loud in the almost silence of the room. 

Wanda knows she probably looks like a mess, wrapped up in an oversized men’s sweatshirt with her hair in a haphazard bun, curled in on herself, face red and blotchy from periodic sobbing fits. Not a good look. 

If Wanda was a little more present, she might care that the black widow was seeing her like this. But the only thing on her mind right now is anguish. Her own grief, confusion, pain… along with a shit ton of other jumbled emotions. Not to mention how overwhelming the new setting is. She can feel  _ everything _ , only dampened a little by the radio frequencies. 

“Wanda?” Natasha’s voice is a little more gentle, and she rounds the bed until she’s in the girl’s line of sight, and some part of Wanda is relieved that Natasha doesn’t look alarmed or disgusted. “Are you with me?”

Wanda is barely able to blink a few times before giving a small, stiff nod. Her eyes are wet with tears still, and it’s mostly out of her control when a couple spill from her eyes. 

Natasha moves to perch on the chair beside the bed, folding one leg over the other as she watches her. Wanda wonders why they sent the black widow to see her. She’s almost certain the woman didn’t come of her own accord. Wanda fucked with her head, and despite her and Pietro apologising, she knows she doesn’t deserve forgiveness. 

“You haven’t eaten in a few days, huh?” Natasha asks, and then tips her head a little. “I’m sure you’re not that hungry, though. It’s probably not even crossing your mind. You’re probably a little dehydrated too, though, which could get bad. Do you think you could drink some water?”

Wanda stares at her, taking a few seconds of silence to focus on Natasha’s words and force her lagging brain to comprehend. W _ hat’s her angle here? _ even so, she gives another stiff nod, but doesn’t make a move to sit up nor reach for the almost full bottle on her bedside table. Okay, maybe she hasn’t been drinking as much as she thought she had. 

“Come on,” Natasha says, voice partially firm, but also laced with gentleness, and she’s suddenly moving forward, grabbing the bottle off the side table and crouching down beside the bed, unscrewing the cap. “Sit up a little, okay? just a little bit.”

Wanda does, slowly, head spinning a little as she does. She lets Natasha push the open bottle into her hand and she carefully brings it up to her lips. She doesn’t realise how dry her mouth and throat are until the moisture hits. She’s perhaps a little eager in swallowing the water, almost finishing the bottle before she sets it down with a shaky hand again. 

“See? that wasn’t so hard,” Natasha says, voice a little commending as she watches Wanda slide back down into the comfort of having Pietro’s scent huddled around her. It feels… vaguely like a hug from her brother. She would give up an arm for that right now. 

Natasha seems to be looking around the room, and her eyes land on the little radio beside the bed that’s emitting the static, and her brow furrows a little. She looks to Wanda who’s turned her attention to the speckled carpet on the floor but can still see the woman in her peripheral. 

“What’s this for?” Natasha asks, and Wanda swallows harshly, giving her throat a clear with a light cough. 

“White noise, uh…” she begins quietly, surprised at how hoarse and cracked her voice sounds. “Helps me block out all the feelings. Everyone else’s. They get overwhelming.”

Natasha’s brow wavers slightly as Wanda speaks, and it looks a little too much like pity. “Blood work said there was a blocking agent in your system. Is that what those helped with?” she asks. 

Wanda isn’t sure if she can form another sentence, each word she forces out of her lips feels like it’s sucking another bout of energy out of her body. “Strucker,” she says quietly, drawing in another breath, “Injected it.”

She closes her eyes again now. She doesn’t want to see the expression on Natasha’s face. She just wants to be left alone with her thoughts of her brother. She wants to be able to curl up small and cry. By herself. 

“You wanna come down to the kitchen and get something to eat?” Natasha asks, and Wanda can only bring herself to shake her head, eyes still closed. 

She’s pretty sure Natasha says something else, but Wanda’s stopped listening by then. She’s slipped back into her thoughts, the darkness behind her eyelids bombarding her with images of her brother. 

She doesn’t hear anything else up until the sound of footsteps retreating and the door clicking shut. 

*

Wanda wakes up at some point to a protein shake and a granola bar on her bedside table. She can’t quite remember if someone came in, but she figures they must have. 

She drags herself out of bed to the bathroom and makes the half-assed effort of splashing some water on her face before slipping back into bed. She doesn’t feel hungry, but her stomach is rumbling and her arms and legs feel weak, so she drinks some of the protein shake. It’s banana flavoured, and she vaguely remembers telling clint something about Pietro loving banana milk. 

The thought triggers another irrational influx of tears, and not long after it goes down, she’s emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. 

*

It’s maybe a day or two after Natasha’s visit, Steve comes knocking. 

Wanda’s sitting up this time, her knees hugged to her chest, head resting against them, covers bunched at her feet. 

_ ‘Would you like me to unlock the door for Captain Rogers?’ _ FRIDAY asks from the ceiling, and Wanda draws in a sharp breath, burying her face into her knees and then exhaling sharply. 

“Yeah. Okay,” she says, throat a little sore as she speaks. 

She’d changed her sweatpants last night after she had a shower (albeit, she sort of just stood there for twenty minutes), but put Pietro’s sweatshirt straight back on after. 

It still smells of him. She needs it. She needs  _ him _ . 

Wanda doesn’t look up when Steve walks in. His footsteps are heavier than Natasha’s, loud over the radio, and he doesn’t hesitate as much as she did. He walks straight over to crouch beside her bed, eyes scanning over her face until he catches her eye. 

“Hey, kid,” he says, voice low. Wanda feels a spark of panic, before she remembers it’s just a term of phrase. They don’t actually know how old she is. Fifteen. Sixteen in about a month. But there’s no need for them to know that. 

Wanda swallows harshly and nods, “Hey.” 

He’s silent for a long time, before he reaches over to the bedside table and unwraps the granola bar that Wanda thinks has been there for almost a day. He doesn’t hesitate to push it into her hand, eyes firm but still gentle. “You have to eat, you know that, right? otherwise we’re gonna have to hook you up to some feeding tubes. Those aren’t fun,” he says, voice low. 

Wanda doesn’t tell him that she’s been three weeks without food before. When she and Pietro were young, food was hard to come by. Sometimes her father would make a deal with a man who always managed to have enough food, and he’d give them a months worth in exchange for… the memory makes Wanda flinch visibly, and she just hopes Steve doesn’t notice. She  _ hates  _ thinking about that man. What he did to her. What her father let him do, so that his family could eat, when she wasn’t even five years old. 

So yes, she knows the value of food. But she also can’t keep anything down. 

Even so, she brings the granola bar up to her lips, nibbling lightly at the edge. Steve doesn’t watch her, which she’s grateful for, and he’s looking at the little radio at her bedside. 

“Nat says the static helps you stop other people’s emotions from overwhelming you?” he says, and Wanda gives a small nod, but doesn’t say anything. “bruce is analysing your blood sample from the lab to see if he can replicate a less… sedative version of the medication strucker was giving you. You think that would help?”

Wanda blinks and gives a small nod, swallowing a little of the granola bar despite her stomach churning in protest. “Yeah,” she manages to say, trying to be polite, because she realises she’s probably coming across as a total bitch, and while she doesn’t care that much, she does a little. “I-I’m sorry, i…” she begins, about to justify herself, but Steve cuts in. 

“You have  _ nothing  _ to be sorry for, alright?” he says, his voice punctuated, and Wanda thinks he might mean it on a broader scope than she originally thought. “You’re going through something really difficult right now. You don’t owe anyone anything, okay?”

She blinks harshly when her eyes get wet and gives a nod. 

“But… you have to eat, okay? and you have to drink water. You can’t stop taking care of yourself, that’s not okay,” he says, softly, but Wanda still feels a little like a scolded child, and she thinks maybe her lip trembles a little. “Hey, easy, it’s okay… no one’s going to force you out of your comfort zone. Everything at your pace. But I’m not going to let you waste away, alright?”

Wanda gives a slow nod, forcing herself to take another bite of the granola bar, but she almost gags as she swallows. 

Steve obviously notices, because he’s reaching out to take it from her, carefully, placing it down on the side table. “Okay, okay… don’t force yourself. If that’s not going down, we can find you something else that might, hm? maybe some yoghurt,” his voice is gentle, and in any other state Wanda may be irritated by the patronising undertones, may be paranoid that he’s cottoned onto the fact that she’s actually still a minor in the eyes of the law, but… right now? it’s borderline comforting. She wouldn’t mind handing over the reigns a little. 

“Okay,” she manages to say, voice cracking as she does, eyes a little teary. 

“There’s a kitchen down the corridor, and one else is on the floor at the moment. You think you can come look for something to eat with me?” Steve asks, and it’s so non-committal, so nonchalant that… 

Wanda gives a weak nod. It takes her a few long moments to slide out of bed, her entire body feeling weak and her head spinning enough that she actually starts to sway. 

“Can i put my hand on your arm, to steady you?” Steve asks, voice low and soft, and she gives a blind nod because she’s probably on the verge of swaying over. 

Steve is quick to catch her by the elbow at that, gently, smile soft and encouraging. “Hey, you’re alright. Slowly, okay?” he says, and Wanda gives a dazed blink in response, allowing herself a few moments to steady herself before giving Steve a nod. 

The kitchen isn’t far from her room, just a hall down and next to the conference room. It’s a confusing maze though, and Wanda can already envision herself getting completely lost. True to Steve’s word, there’s no one else in there, and a half full pot of coffee on the counter, presumably from the morning. 

“Alright, let’s see what we can do,” Steve says, making his way over to the refrigerator, flashing Wanda a careful smile. “If you wanna have a seat that’s okay.”

He seems to understand her apprehension to do anything without permission. He seems to get how she feels entirely lost and untethered here, because every reassurance comes at just the right time. 

She then watches as he walks over to the radio on top of the microwave, turning the dials for a few moments before the sound of white noise fills the kitchen with a low thrum. Her eyes widen and she would smile if she could manage it. Instead she gives a tiny nod of gratitude, hoping her eyes convey it well enough. 

Wanda sits at the counter, and Steve starts to rifle through options. “Okay we have some bread, so we could make a couple of sandwiches or toast, or some yoghurt - Nat showed me how to make a real nice berry and nut yoghurt - or some cereal? or there’s some leftover pasta… even some chocolate. I think we have ice cream in the freezer too, actually… we have cheese, or a ton of pop tarts, thor eats dozens honestly…”

Wanda listens, the options honestly  _ overwhelming _ : she’s never been good at decisions. She’s always been better at letting others (namely Pietro) decide  _ for her _ ; and when Steve tapers to a finish he looks over and surveys her, expression gentle… he seems to get it. 

“How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” Steve says, after awhile. “Does that sound okay? I’ll make one for me too.”

Wanda is silent for a moment before she nods. It does sound okay, actually. 

The silence is comfortable, rather than awkward, as Steve makes the sandwiches. Wanda notices him using the special high protein peanut butter but she doesn’t object. She knows that she’s wearing herself down by not eating. She needs to sustain herself. 

“Rectangles or triangles?” Steve asks eventually, looking up with a small smile playing at his lips. 

With a burst of energy, Wanda decides to humour him. “Triangles, obviously,” she says, a moment’s pause allowing her lips to tug upwards into the tiniest hint of a smile. 

Steve grins back with a mock salute. 

They eat in pretty much the same comfortable silence, the only sound being the radio static. 

She’s just about finished her sandwich (it went down with surprising ease, actually) when the robot in the ceiling emits a bleep and suddenly one of the kitchen doors is bursting open. 

Wanda tenses up immediately, the sick feeing in her stomach back, along with sharp pangs of anxiety in her chest. Natasha and clint walk into the room, and while Wanda isn’t particularly wary of either of them… she’s not prepared for this. She suddenly wants to be back under the covers, all by herself. 

Wanda feels bad, really she does because she wants to thank Steve for the sandwich, maybe give Natasha and clint a nod of greeting at least… but she doesn’t have it in her. She  _ can’t.  _

And before any of them can say anything (although she does catch Steve looking to her as though he’s about to say something) she’s standing up and bolting out of the kitchen. Her heart is hammering in anxiety and yet she manages to make it back to her room, slamming the door and asking FRIDAY to please lock it, voice a ragged gasp. 

Within a few seconds she’s crawling back under the covers, breathing fast and tears falling down her cheeks. It’s all so fucking  _ overwhelming _ , and this place is full of so many people… she can’t wrap her mind around it all. It’s too much. 

In the end, she cries herself back to sleep, having to try really hard not to let her just eaten food resurface between sobs. 

*

Inevitably, it’s not Wanda’s choice the next time she sees someone. 

It’s that night, maybe twelve hours after the kitchen incident, and she’s… in a fitful sleep. Her emotions are all over the place, and hence she’s immersed in one of her more intense nightmares. Maybe it’s the lack of drugs in her system, perhaps they not only muted her abilities but calmed her body… because even before she’s opened her eyes, the robot in the ceiling is emitting a low alarm, voice repeating the same phrase. “ _ Medical alert: heart rate dangerously high” _ . 

It doesn’t wake Wanda up though. What wakes her up is the knocking on her door, and she sits up with a cry and a breathless gasp, cheeks red, body immediately beginning to shiver, covered in a cold sweat, along with the tears that are somehow coursing down her cheeks. It was a nightmare, a really fucking  _ awful  _ nightmare, and she thinks… she’s glowing, red, her hands and probably her eyes too… fuck. 

She’s not with it enough to register Natasha overriding FRIDAY and rushing into the room, eyes scanning for any potential threats before she’s moving to Wanda’s bedside. 

Without any questions, she’s perching on the edge of the bed, meeting the girl’s eye. “Hey! hey, Wanda, look at me!” she says, voice loud enough to be heard over the little witch’s hyperventilation, but clearly not loud enough because it doesn’t work to catch her attention. 

“Hey! Wanda, it’s alright! Hey, look at me,” she says, grabbing the girl’s hand this time instead. Natasha notices that it’s glowing a light red, but she ignores it, because if she doesn’t calm down, Wanda is going to lapse into a full blown panic attack and probably throw up, as well. 

It gets the girl’s attention, though: wide green eyes meet her own, speckled with flecks of red, and Natasha thinks it’s a response to fear. Because no less than a split second later, she’s wrenching her hand away, a panicked whimper escaping her lips. But at least Natasha has her attention now. 

“Okay,  _ sorry _ … okay, you need to breathe, alright? you need to slow down your breathing,” she says, giving Tony the briefest glance in her peripheral. He’s standing out of sight, out in the hall. It had been him who FRIDAY alerted about Wanda’s distress, and evidently he deemed it more appropriate for Natasha to assist her. 

Wanda looks  _ terrified  _ as her grip on the bed sheets tightens, breathing shaky and entirely uneven. 

“Hey, easy, slow down, alright?” Natasha coaches, leaning closer but being careful not to touch the girl. They don’t know a lot about Wanda yet: the deep dive clint has been doing on the internet wasn’t very conclusive, and until Tony gets the authorities to hand over the Sokovian records, they’re in the dark about the twins’ lives. Even so, Natasha knows people well enough to know that there’s a lifetime of trauma behind this girl. Her eyes say that alone. So Natasha won’t touch her: not if she doesn’t want her to. 

“Wanda - hey, hey keep looking at me - can you copy my breathing?” she says, keeping her eyes locked on the other girl’s. “In… and out. In… and out. Slowly. Can you try?” she asks, keeping her voice low and calming. 

it takes a while, what feels like a really long while of exaggerated deep breaths on nat’s part, but… the girl eventually seems calmer. She has her gaze fixed on the bed sheets, hands curled tightly into the fabric, chest rising and falling a lot slower. 

Natasha turns her head to give Tony a small nod, and with a nod of his own, he’s disappearing back to his own room. 

Natasha takes a few moments to observe how young and vulnerable Wanda looks right now. She doesn’t look like the same powerful being that ripped ultron’s heart out. She looks… she looks like a scared little girl. She looks vulnerable. 

It gives Natasha pause in her previous assumption of how old the girl is. They’d originally assumed the twins to be at least eighteen or nineteen, simply because… well, didn’t that make sense? and Pietro was relatively tall and muscular, and Wanda… she looked older with her makeup on. 

But now that Natasha is thinking about it, Pietro’s increased metabolism would’ve increased his muscle mass, not to mention the known effect of makeup on making girls look older. Because really? It suddenly doesn’t make a lot of sense that Wanda could be that old. 

“Hey,” Natasha murmurs after a few long minutes of silence, and Wanda slowly lifts her head, haunted green eyes meeting concerned ones. “Are you feeling a little better?”

Wanda swallows harshly, fingers beginning to tug at loose strings on the hem of the sweater she’s wearing (Natasha has gathered by now that it was Pietro’s. Wanda hasn’t taken it off, and she seems to be wrapping it around herself as though it would give her the comfort of her brother). “I’m sorry if i-i… disturbed you,” Wanda says eventually, voice low and shaky. 

Natasha’s heart almost breaks. 

“No, you didn’t,” she says, after a brief pause, shaking her head despite the fact that Wanda isn’t watching her. “FRIDAY… she told us that your heart rate was up, ‘ _ dangerously high _ ’. Does… does that happen often?”

Wanda swallows harshly, hands wringing together for another prolonged silence. “I haven’t ever not been taking those drugs from the lab, while I’ve had my powers. I think they… subdued the effects of the energy on my body. Because i… i feel it, now, and before i didn’t.”

Natasha thinks that was the longest sentence she’s heard her speak yet. She takes a second before she nods, pursing her lips together. “I think we’ve almost found something,” she says, because bruce is pretty much almost there, just testing phases to make sure it’s not harmful. She stays silent for another beat, before adding, “but i meant the nightmares, Wanda. Do you get those a lot?”

The girl visibly blanches, before giving a slow nod. She doesn’t offer any more words, and so Natasha decides that prying would just be invasive. 

“Alright,” Natasha says lowly, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and she tips her head, “Would you like me to leave you now?”

She’s surprised when Wanda’s head snaps up and her eyes are glowing red again. It’s not scary, because Natasha can see the fear, clear as day. It’s not an angry red, it’s a terrified one. 

Natasha decides that maybe… maybe leaving Wanda alone wouldn't be the best thing right now. She lost the person she was closest to in the world, less than a week ago, and now? now she’s all alone. Maybe… maybe she could use a little bit of company. 

“Or I could stay awhile. I wouldn’t mind.”

Wanda swallows again, and then she’s suddenly shaking her head. “sorry, no, i…”

“Wanda.” Natasha’s voice is firm and cuts her off. “How about I stay until you fall back asleep?”

The silence stretches longer than before, Wanda looking as though she’s simply frozen, and Natasha is about to say something more, when she catches an almost imperceptible nod. The girl looks unsure, but she’s giving a tiny nod. 

“Okay.”

And so Natasha stays. She stays until Wanda’s still slightly laboured breathing evens out, her body uncurls and relaxes into the bed, and her face stills into a calm expression that makes her look no older than a child. 

Natasha’s heart aches as she watches. This girl needs them, whether she’s going to admit it or not, and Natasha vows to find out exactly what she can about little Wanda maximoff. And she also vows that whenever the girl is ready, nat’s going to be here for her. 

Natasha slips out once she’s sure Wanda is asleep, only returning momentarily to leave an oat bar and a gatorade at her bedside, for the morning. 

*

It does take awhile longer for Wanda to get herself together, and even then it’s mostly a pretence, but… Steve and Natasha continue visiting her, bringing her food, reminding her to take care of herself. And one day she manages to pull it together enough to get dressed. Properly dressed, into a pair of jeans and one of the black camisoles in the dresser. 

Wanda finds a pack of her cigarettes in her bag and her lighter (it’s a habit she’d been trying to break for years) and makes her way out into the balcony across the floor. She’s wary, checking she’s alone before going outside, but it’s a welcome relief as she brings the stick to her lips. 

It’s about five minutes before she’s disturbed; Tony slides the glass door open and wanders out onto the balcony, coming to a stop on the otherside where he leans against the wall. “You’re a smoker?” he asks, tone indifferent, and Wanda suddenly isn’t so sure about being out here anymore. 

Her anxiety is high, and she doesn’t know how much she trusts Tony stark. She did a number on his mind, she knows that, but he did a number on her whole fucking family. 

“I guess,” she replies eventually, still not looking over at him, not until he starts walking across the balcony to her. 

She tenses up, instinctively, because she’s always had a hard time trusting men, especially ones she doesn’t know. It’s an experience-born fear, and she thinks it must be evident in her stance, because he makes a point of raising both hands as if to show no bad intent before coming to a stop beside her, a couple of feet away. 

“Did some lab work and we got that drug in your system pretty much down pat,” he says, now pulling a little orange pill box from his pocket, shaking it lightly. “It won’t have any of the side effects and it won’t act as so much of a sedative, but it should keep your powers in check like before.”

Wanda swallows harshly, looking up at him and stubbing her cigarette out in the ashtray before giving a small nod. “Thank you,” she says a little hesitantly, frowning lightly. She doesn’t understand why he would do anything for her, not really. Surely he should hate her as much as she thinks she hates him. 

He gives her a nod, holding it out and dropping it into her outstretched palm. “Steve’s working on your US permit, you know?” he says, and Wanda gives a nod, because she knows that, he was telling her about it the other day, “but… if it happened that you were under eighteen, it would be a lot easier to just have you put in our custody.”

Wanda feels her body tense up. S _ o he knows. O _ r at least he’s onto her. 

His eyes narrow a little, and he exhales sharply. “Look, kid, i get that you hate me, I’m not your biggest fan either, but… throw me a bone, alright? Just tell me how old you are. Your date of birth might help.”

Wanda takes a deep breath, fingers curling around the railing. Is she really going to do this? Yes, she may trust the avengers more after the last couple of weeks, and maybe… Well Tony has done her a favour, she could be honest, right?

_ But what if they decide to throw her into the system? it’ll probably be even worse than in sokovia.  _

Eventually, Wanda decides that worst comes to worse, she could just leave. Up and leave if they try to hand her over to CPS. She knows how to survive on her own and always has. 

“I’m sixteen next month,” she says, eventually, voice quiet, “I don’t know my exact date of birth, though.”

She hears Tony draw in a sharp breath, and when she looks up, he’s running a hand over his face. “You’re fifteen?” he asks, and Wanda feels a little bit of dread curling in her stomach. 

She ducks her head and swallows harshly as she gives a nod. She should’ve kept her mouth shut. 

“Shit, kid, I’m sorry,” he says eventually, and she  _ didn’t  _ expect that. 

She looks up, blinking a few times. 

“Thanks for being honest,” he says, after a few more beats. “I’m gonna have to tell the others, you know that right?”

Wanda shrugs slightly and nods. She figured he would, yeah. It doesn’t matter anyway, Tony’s pretty much in charge of all the official stuff, she knows that, so if he knows then that’s it. 

Tony’s quiet for another long time. “Peter’s only a little older than you, he turned sixteen last month,” he says, “Maybe you could use a friend your age?”

Wanda almost chuckles, because… she’s sure that the divide between her life and the life of an american teenager is massive. She’s not being self-pitying, but more than half the shit she’s been through would be completely unimaginable to most other fifteen year olds. 

Even so, she shrugs lightly, hoping to appease Tony so that maybe she can have some peace again. “Maybe.”

That seems to be enough for him, because he nods, looking as though he’s about to leave, and then his eyes flicker back down to the pill box. “One in the morning, one before bed. Let Nat know before you run out.”

And then he’s gone. 

*

Tony is certain that Natasha almost cries when he tells them how old Wanda is. He gets it; the horror that they’ve been treating this fifteen year old little kid like an adult. That they’ve been letting her self destruct in her grief and trauma. 

Clint agrees to further the search for her records, and it’s almost unanimously decided that Tony will get Wanda placed in Steve’s temporary custody. He’s the only one without some kind of record against him, out of them all, and once Wanda turns sixteen they can get her emancipated. If that’s what she wants, anyway. 

Tony takes it upon himself to contact Peter, who tells Tony he’s planning on coming to the compound over the weekend. 

He knows that Wanda isn’t exactly in a socialising state of mind at the moment, but he essentially decides that a little interaction with someone her age wouldn’t be the worst thing. He tells Peter that he should come and hang around on the second floor of the living quarters, and decides that he’ll see if Natasha can coax Wanda out of her room again. 

He’s suitably pleased with his teenage friend-making efforts after that. 

*

Wanda starts feeling a little better a couple of days after she starts taking the pills. Natasha comes to see her later on in the day after Tony speaks to her on the balcony. There’s something about the way she’s looking at Wanda as she comes in that tells the girl Tony told her about her newfound age. 

Natasha always seems to be pretty calm, and Wanda thinks it’s an effort to keep her emotions in check to avoid alarming her. She appreciates it, because she’s very skittish at the moment, and barely even able to deal with her own feelings. 

“You could’ve told me, you know?” she says, eventually, after checking that Wanda’s eaten something today. “I wouldn’t have been mad. I’m  _ not  _ mad now. I just wish I’d known.”

Wanda swallows harshly and ducks her head, giving a small nod. “I’m sorry,” she says, catching her lip between her teeth, a sudden bloom of anxiety pressing down on her chest. “I… I didn’t lie.”

“I know you didn’t, honey, I know,” Natasha is rushing to assure her, and Wanda is glad that Nat seems to realise that’s important. Wanda doesn’t lie. She  _ doesn’t. L _ ying gets punished. She’s not a liar. “You just… well, i think we could’ve been taking better care of you. You’re not an adult yet, there might still be things that you need, that you wouldn’t if you were a little older.”

Wanda swallows again, tears pricking at her eyes as she does her best to suppress the urge to wring her hands together, one of her nervous tendencies. “Okay,” she says eventually, voice cracking a little. “I’m almost sixteen, though. I am.”

“I know,” Natasha says again, and she looks like she wants to reach out for Wanda’s hand, but she stops herself. “No one’s mad at you. No one’s mad, okay?”

Wanda almost can’t hold back a scoff, the tears thickening as the overwhelmingness grows. “They’re mad,” she says quietly, voice low, and it’s clear to them both what she’s talking about. 

It takes Natasha a few, long moments to compose the correct response, jaw clenched slightly in thought. “Wanda… you did a bad thing, okay? you made a bad decision, when you teamed up with ultron, and messed with our minds. I’m not denying that. But… everyone makes bad choices sometimes, okay? especially when they’re young, or in pain, or traumatised, and… honey, you’re all three,” Natasha says, voice a little pained, because it’s hard not to be empathetic when there’s a scared, self-loathing little girl sitting in front of her; one who reminds Natasha  _ so much  _ of herself just over ten years ago. “We’ve all been there, the aftermath of a bad decision, and you? Well you chose to fix that. You chose to join us, fight with us, and make a difference. You admitted you were wrong, you apologised, and you  _ learned. T _ hat’s more mature than a lot of adults can be. And i… i know that some people may hold onto what happened for a little while, but i promise you, they all understand. They all get it. And they’re  _ all  _ going to forgive you. I know that i have.”

Wanda’s crying by the time she finishes. She has her knees hugged to her chest and her face buried in her knees, screwing herself up small, making her look even younger than before. 

Natasha wants to touch her, hug her, but she holds back. For the first time, she’s seeing Wanda’s arms (exposed, out of the confines of Pietro’s sweater) and they’re scarred. Not self inflicted scars, scars of abuse. Ones that Natasha knows all too well. This is  _ not _ a little girl that she’s going to force touch upon. 

“It’s alright. You’re alright. Just breathe, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

Natasha hates that this is the second panic attack she’s talked the girl through in the last few days. But she also doesn’t mind one bit. She keeps talking until Wanda has calmed down, and then she’s sitting forwards, smile gentle as her eyes flicker over the girl’s tears stained face. 

“Tony’s pills are going to help with the anxiety too, okay? they’re going to make it a little bit more manageable,” she says, voice gentle, “You have quite a bit, don’t you, hm?”

Wanda gives a weary blink as she nods. 

She lets Natasha push the water bottle into her hand, gently coaxing her to take a drink, because she just cried about a gallon’s worth of water. Once she’s a little calmer again, Wanda uncurls herself slightly, ducking her head. 

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no. Hey. No apologising, okay?” Natasha says, voice stern. “I’m right here. Whatever you need. And if you need a hug, or anything, you can ask for that too. But I won’t do it without your permission, okay? i won’t touch you without your permission.”

Wanda sucks in a sharp breath of air, looking surprised, and Natasha’s heart almost shatters. She remembers that feeling. She remembers the shock at learning that she was entitled to choosing who got to touch her body. Entitled to saying no, but also  _ yes  _ when she wanted to. 

_ God  _ she sees a frightening amount of herself in this girl. 

Maybe that is what has made her so goddamn determined to help her. 


End file.
